Chapter Text
Roman knew he’d have to see her again. At some point. In the months after, no matter how far he fled from New York, the threat of it tick tick ticked in his ear like a bomb. Waiting. Lethal. He pretended like he didn’t care anymore — after all, it’d been nearly a year since they’d been in the same room. But deep down, the thought of seeing her in the flesh still made Roman sick to his stomach. Made his heart rate go haywire and his forehead scar pulse like he was Harry fucking Potter. No, Roman was not ready to see Gerri again. He simply wouldn’t know what to say.
At least, he thought, over and over again, it wouldn’t happen in a boardroom. No, those days were well and good behind Roman. But of course, Gerri had to be Shiv’s godmother, and Shiv had to go and get knocked up by that slimey Wormsgans. And no matter how fucked up the remaining Roy family was — and would continue to be, forever and ever until eternity — Roman couldn’t bring himself to miss the baptism. The picture Shiv had sent him of her new baby girl (Rose Logan Wambsgans, all of five pounds and six ounces) made the decision final. She was perfect, and, much to Roman’s delight, looked absolutely nothing like her father. Roman had responded to Shiv’s text with slew of heart emojis, an RSVP yes to the ridiculous Catholic affair, and, of course, a paternity test for Tom.
But now, the day of the baptism had arrived, and gone was any certainty Roman had held that it was going to be okay. In fact, as the morning progressed, Roman found himself shrinking. He looked at himself in the mirror and no longer saw the tanned, longer haired version of himself he had worked so hard to create in California, in the South of France, in Rio. Instead, he was back in that glass-walled conference room, getting attacked by his big brother and defending his little sister in turn. He was bleeding from where Kendall opened his stitches. He was laughing, a little maniacally, at how finally losing the war of the Roys made him feel free, for the first time ever. He was getting the call, at that bar afterwards, when Colin told him that Kendall had tried to jump. He was in the car with Connor, driving Kendall to the facility.
“Hurry up in there, we’re going to be super fucking late!” Roman jumps back to reality at the sound of Tabitha’s voice. He straightens his tie, and exits the modern bathroom of the penthouse where he no longer lives.
“What if I want to be late? I gotta, like, show up the stupid baby or it’ll take all of my well-deserved attention”. Roman smirks at Tabitha, who is putting on her coat.
“Right, of course, because you’ll be the only other baby there. Hey, be sure to introduce yourself to the Priest, Rome, or he might mistake you for Rose and dunk you in the Holy Water.”
“Fuck you. You just want me to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West Coast”.
Roman does a stupid little cackle, and Tabitha snorts. Roman feels a rush of affection for his ex-girlfriend, who so easily agreed to be his date for the occasion. Her wedding to some art gallery heir is in just a few months, and she is madly in love, madly happy. But she still takes off her engagement ring as she wraps her arm in Roman’s on their way out the door. Knowing he needs a buffer. Knowing he needs to pretend. Just for a little while.
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Gerri is so caught up at work that she nearly forgets about the baptism until her assistant drops off her change of clothes. Gerri stares at it, the tasteful, rose-pink dress, almost laughing at how out of place it looks amongst the thousands of DOJ documents and ATN election court papers strewn around it. A fitting image, she thinks, for her life the past year. As if a dress and some tasteful heels could cover up the shitshow that is Tom and Mattson’s reign. As if a baptism could make the Roy kids a real family, not just a failed coup who blew up American democracy for fun. As if this dress and these papers and everything else in her office were actually random, and not all a constant, searing reminder of Roman Roy.
Gerri never considered turning down Tom’s offer to work at GoJo Waystar, and she regrets it. She’ll never admit that, of course, but it’s true. Since the day the deal went through — the day she watched Kendall and Roman brawl in a conference room and Shiv shiv them both shortly after— Gerri has not taken a moment to process it all. Logan’s death, Waystar Royco’s ‘death’, and the death of her, well, whatever it was, with Roman. Nearly a year of working herself to the bone, with her head down, just pretending like everything was still the same. Only Frank seemed to notice how frazzled and burned out she was, but he got fired before he could voice his concerns further. Gerri felt vindicated. He was the burned out one, he was the loser. She won. Gerri Kellman was still on top.
But even with sixteen, seventeen hour days in the office, Gerri had to eventually go home. And it was bleak. Before she’d teamed up with Roman, Gerri hadn’t noticed how barren her personal life was. And if she did, she didn’t care. She FaceTimed with her daughters, drank martinis with the old guard, and watched the odd movie on her couch. That was enough. But Roman lit a torch in her she could not seem to put out. His freneticism, his constant need for attention and excitement had seeped into her pores and poisoned her. She hadn’t realized he was ivy growing over her skin, suffocating her, until he was gone. She misses its chokehold.
“Hey. I got us a car with Tom in twenty. Good?” Karolina had peeped her head into the office, clocking Gerri’s dress still in its garment bag. She was changed already, into a bright pink jumpsuit, a goddess amongst the drab suits of the C-Suite.
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll meet you in the garage”. Gerri smiles weakly at her coworker, dying to divulge the flurry of emotions she feels about the event ahead. But she doesn’t. Even as her closest friend at the company, Karolina runs PR. She would not enjoy hearing about the General Counsel’s fucked up past with their former boss, whose ATN call is causing Karolina her biggest headache since Kendall’s infamous press conference.
Karolina heads out, leaving Gerri to her thoughts again. To her thoughts of Roman. Who she will see for the first time in less than an hour. Fuck.
Get it together! Who cares if she’ll see him? She’s happy. She’s won. And if his secret, private Instagram account is any indication, he’s happy, too. He’s lost the battle, but won his freedom. And, by the looks of it, won the attention of leagues of hot young women across the world. She will see Roman Roy, and it will be okay. They will say hello, they’ll make niceties, they’ll acknowledge their respective happiness. And it will be okay.
Right?